30 Ways: Innes and Vanessa
by Rallalon
Summary: For the 30 Ways LJ community. Thirty themed stories of the prince of Frelia and his loyal knight.
1. Theme 17: Five More Minutes?

**Title:** Rescued Prince, Wounded Pride  
**Pairing: **Innes/Vanessa  
**Fandom: **Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones  
**Theme: **#17 Five More Minutes?  
**Rating: **PG  
**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Fire Emblem.

.-.-.-.-.

The first things Innes became aware of were the roar of the wind, unfamiliar movement, and his cheek pressed against pleasantly warm metal. Judging by his previous state of lethargy, the dregs of a Sleep spell were still floating around inside his head, or whatever it was Sleep spells affected. This made it far more difficult than it should have been to discover what was going on.

Having enough energy to open his eyes wouldn't have gone amiss.

His legs had been tied down and his arms were around the small rider of the horse, his back bent in an uncomfortable slouch. He was becoming increasingly conscious of the pain in his right arm, recognizing the unmistakable feel of a splint. The smell of a vulnerary was weak, but still there, along with the scents of horse and saddle leather, metal and dirt, blood and sweat.

In his current state of mind, Innes would have fallen into a kind of muddled, exhausted panic had it not been for the tug of his quiver at this waist, the comforting weight still there.

He was being rescued, not captured.

And it still grated fiercely. 

Down-right humiliating, really.

Groggier than a drunken sailor, the prince of Frelia hoped very much that he had managed to shoot that staff-wielding troubadour before passing out. 

He probably hadn't.

That might have been a pathetic noise of irritation welling in his throat, but whether or not it was, the sound was quickly whipped away by the wind. A thought which should have been obvious finally occurred to him. Silently cursing the mage who had thought magically induced slumber was a good idea, Innes mustered his will and forced his eyes open. The one on the right complied first.

Silvery-white metal filled his vision, his right cheek apparently resting on the back of a Pegasus Knight. He knew that armor.

After an absurd amount of effort, the left eye opened as well, revealing a long, white wing against a background of slow-moving clouds and a darkening blue. There were trees below and between them, flashes of magic could be seen, fire and lightning. Lute and Artur, he supposed, now capable of supposing. 

Stubbornly fighting the last of the spell from his system, he watched the scenery pass beneath them, looking strangely idyllic considering the battle still raging. Having not yet fully regained his sense of time, he couldn't say how long it he had been awake when he felt a gloved hand touch his wrist, his left one. The leather was rough, but the hand was gentle.

"We're almost there, Prince." The words were nearly lost to the wind instead of shouted above it, the rider thinking him still asleep. "We're going down now."

This definitely wasn't his sister. 

Hmm.

...No, still humiliated.

The touch changed into a grip and Innes allowed his knight to move his left arm from around her waist to over her shoulder. Considering that the woman was riding a Pegasus and managing not to drop at lance at the same time, this was an action far more impressive than it normally would have been.

Beginning to dive now, Innes half-moved, half-felt himself moving until his arm was over one of Vanessa's shoulders, his head on the other. Now that he was longer hunched over, his back was already beginning to feel better. Able to almost see what was going on in front of him, Innes realized the knight was flying her mount with her knees, lance in her left hand, his left wrist in her right. He also realized that under her armor, her shirt was an unusual shade of orange and that he had never looked so closely at a woman's neck before.

He tended to realize odd things when he was very tired, as he was now.

The Pegasus glided down, the wind roaring louder than before. Innes caught a glimpse of Gerik and Saleh before the animal's legs stopped kicking air and begun hitting dirt. His head bounced and struck her metal-clad shoulder, the prince letting out a pained sound. 

"Prince!" Vanessa exclaimed, mortified, awkwardly attempting to look at him.

Innes winced, turning his face upwards. "I'm awake."

"I'm so sorry, sir!" Even from this angle, it was easy to see how red the young knight was turning. "I hadn't realized landing would-"

"I'm fine, Vanessa," Innes lied, ignoring the throbbing in his head and the blood leaving his right arm. He closed his eyes, his cheek once more against that pleasantly warm metal. "Just don't shrug."

He felt her tense. "Saleh's coming with a staff. I fixed up your arm as best I could before, but you still need a healing."

Innes made a sound of confirmation, not moving.

"...Prince Innes?"

He smiled softly and spoke into the neck of her shirt. "I think I was wrong about being awake. Five more minutes?"

Vanessa hesitated, perhaps wondering whether or not he was joking. "We'd best get you onto the ground first."

No reply.

"...Prince Innes?"

Maybe getting rescued wasn't as _completely_ humiliating as he had thought it would be, Innes reflected, drifting off into natural sleep.

Maybe.


	2. Theme 2: Sunburn

**Title:** Sandy Skies  
**Fandom:** Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones  
**Characters:** Vanessa, Tana, Innes.   
**Theme:** #2 Sunburn  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Summary:** Desert conditions and Pegasus Knights don't mix well.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Fire Emblem.

.-.-.-.-.-.

She really didn't want him to see her this way. It was bad enough that her armor was scorching and Titania was nearly too exhausted by the constant heat of the Jehanna sun to fly. It was bad enough that she had sand everywhere and Titania had next to nothing to graze on.

Her green hair only made the red of her face stand out all the more.

Vanessa knew herself to be a creature of snow. Her mount was a creature of mountain skies. Being in a desert wasteland wasn't doing much for either of them. Rather, it was doing much _against_ them. Besides from taking a physical toll on Pegasus and knight, this was a horror for Vanessa's confidence.

More than anything, Vanessa wanted to be like her big sister. Syrene was talented and responsible and... beautiful. If she could be like Syrene, strong Syrene, respected Syrene, attractive Syrene... Well, maybe then she'd be someone worth falling in love with. Someone a prince would glance at, then glance at again before giving into the urge to stare.

Unfortunately, right now, he _would_ feel the urge to stare, and for all the wrong reasons.

Vanessa's face was currently red and peeling, her clothes were drenched with sweat, and she felt as if she would die of heat stroke before sunset came. With three or four healers running about, the last didn't seem to be something she had to worry about and the rest weren't things she could do anything about.

All she could do was pray as Father Moulder had taught her to. She'd pray, and ask forgiveness for praying about something so vain and insignificant as not letting the prince see her sunburn. As long as she stayed in flight while traveling and avoided him during meal times for a week, it should be all right.

That was never going to happen.

The ruins they were taking shelter in were far too small for any real avoiding to be done. Fortunately, as long as the sandstorm was raging outside, there wasn't much movement going on either. So long as Vanessa stayed where she was, holding a cloth over her face and a hood over Titania's face, she would be fine. She didn't dare risk a glance to her left where Princess Tana and her mount were taking shelter in the corner, further protected by the human-and-equine buffer Vanessa and Titania had formed.

The Pegasus tried to toss her head, her ears flattening down, upset by the wind and noise. Vanessa held on, murmuring into her mount's ear and petting the animal's nose. Displeased, Titania snorted into her hand, the hot air barely noticeable in this desert heat. Wind roaring ever louder, Titania finally got it into her loveable head that the hood was a good thing, an idea which she kept forgetting between these sandstorms. The Pegasus stepped into her, pressing her hooded head against Vanessa's chest, the equivalent an affectionate and frightened hug.

Fighting the urge to cough – once she began, she might not ever stop – Vanessa felt a hand touch her elbow. Keeping her right arm around her mount's neck, she carefully moved to take that hand in hers, squeezing gently. Far less calloused than hers, though far from soft and unused, the princess's hand felt strangely delicate, a sharp contrast to her strong grip.

Sharing that silent support, the two Pegasus Knights waited out the storm with cloth around their faces and their eyes squeezed shut, each feeling a pounding pulse in the other's hand.

.-.-.-.

"That was an adventure, wasn't it, Vanessa?" the princess said later, untying the hood from her Pegasus' bridle. "Achaeus seems to be all right. How's Titania?"

In reply, said Pegasus spread her wings and flapped once, snorting and sending sand flying. Both women hurriedly covered their eyes as Achaeus followed suit.

Coughing, Vanessa told herself they were just lucky their mounts didn't have enough room to stretch out to their full wingspan. Titania sneezed and then nuzzled her arm, paying more attention now that her rider was busy hacking sand up a dry throat.

So of course, in her moment of coughing, wheezing, sand-blasted, sun-scorched glory, the prince had to make his entrance.

Standing tall and proud and more than slightly irritated, Prince Innes was a distinctly different shade than she had last seen him. There was a clear line of sand going across his face, reminding her uncomfortably of the mercenary Gerik's scar. Above the line, sand thickly peppered his face. Below, the suggestion of a scar was enhanced by the angry red tinge of his skin, almost the color of blood. It was difficult to tell that the original colors of his clothes had been, so encrusted by sand they had become. All this combined with his manner, making him look like a man who has gone through battle with some clawed desert beast and come out the victor.

Vanessa immediately turned back to Titania, keeping her head down and forcing herself to stop coughing despite the protests of her throat.

"There you are, Tana."

The note of frustration in his voice was highly noticeable, even to the ears of a woman trying not to listen. She was having a hard enough time trying to breathe through her dry nostrils and ignore the irritation in her throat.

"I'm fine, brother!" the princess protested, already on the defensive.

Hold it... Hold it... Dignity...

"Tana, you can't-"

Dignity… _Not_ looking like an idiot in front of-

Another coughing fit erupted. Forget about not coughing, she wasn't breathing! She held onto her Pegasus for support, Titania quickly offering her neck and giving a nervous snort. Vanessa's world narrowed to the white coat of fur under her fingers and the harsh burn of her throat. A hand touched her back as a water flask was held up before her eyes and lowered. She took it, feeling a steadying hand under hers. Managing to raise the flask to her lips, dry and cracked, Vanessa nearly coughed out the water before she could force herself to swallow.

"This is why I don't want you out here," the prince continued after that briefest of pauses, speaking to his sister while his knight took frustratingly small sips from his flask. "It's not simply the battlefield you're in danger on."

His sister had switched to a different topic entirely. "Vanessa, are you all right?"

The knight nodded, fairly certain this was the truth. A moment later, once her mind had once again expanded to subjects beyond air and water, her face burned beneath its sand covering.

The prince was keeping a stabilizing hand on the flask, minding the scarcity of water and Vanessa's unsteady grip. Her fingers over his, his thumb over hers, Vanessa imagined that she could feel his pulse. And his other hand was still on her back, still there, still touching her. If her right knee were to wobble and if she was to topple over to the side, she would fall against him and into his waiting arms.

Looking into eyes so pale a green as to seem grey, Vanessa became very conscious of her right knee.

Those eyes were trained on her, watching her closely, carefully. He slid his hand out from beneath hers, removing the other from her back, leaving her so strangely cold in the desert heat. Taking her last small, controlled sip, a thought occurred to her, one that nearly brought on her third coughing fit of the day. Almost choking, Vanessa tried without success to push her realization to the back of her mind and pointedly ignore it until it went away.

He almost made a grab for the flask when she jerked, almost touched her again, but decided – perhaps fortunately – that she wasn't in need of help. He looked at her questioningly as she handed the flask back to him, didn't seem to notice when their hands touched and Vanessa experienced yet another one of those incredible temperature changes.

"I'm fine, sir." Her voice was a little rough, but perfectly usable.

Prince Innes smiled.

He smiled at her.

He smiled at her, and he said, using that soft, satisfied, captivating tone of voice that always made her want to close her eyes and lean against his chest where she would listen to him for as long as he would speak and remain there even longer, even once he had fallen silent because then he would touch her hair and look at her as if she was beautiful

Prince Innes smiled and said, "Good."

Soon enough, the Frelian prince and princess had moved their argument elsewhere, Princess Tana taking Achaeus with her. Vanessa's mind had kept slipping back to her slightly awkward realization, stopping her from paying complete attention to what they were saying.

That was probably for the best.

Titania snorted, shaking her mane, sending yet more in the air. Vanessa closed her mouth immediately, holding her breath and giving her mount a look which was Not Amused. The Pegasus, her ears tipped back and slightly out to the sides, only gazed back at her, unmistakably bored. Still having some time until the army would resume its trek northwest, Vanessa pulled out a brush from her saddlebags and began what was now the highly repetitive chore of getting sand out of her mount's fur.

Her mind strayed back to a moment in the previous few weeks as she went about the familiar brush strokes. She could see him, standing behind an outcropping of rock in the mountains. She could see him, pulling that flask out and removing the stopper. She could see him, raising it to his lips and tilting his head back, eyes closing slightly against the glare of the sun.

Part of her was desperately trying to remember the taste, to filter through the memory of warm, stale water tinged with a metallic tang, to search through it and find a taste even the most vivid of dreams could not supply.

The rest of her was desperately trying to ignore what that part was doing. Because to have to resort to that, to regret that she hadn't found that taste right away and to regret it so deeply that it was physically painful... This was not what she wanted.

"Duty first," she said to the sandy ruins, the sounds of her fellow soldiers distant yet close.

Titania turned her neck to look back at her, one ear perked up towards her rider.

Vanessa tried a smile and went back to brushing down her mount, not yet realizing that she'd forgotten to be embarrassed about her sunburn.


	3. Theme 18: Vanity

**Title:** Pride's Coin  
**Fandom:** Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones  
**Characters:** Innes, Vanessa  
**Theme:** #18 Vanity  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** Introspective Innes.

This story is one half of the whole and will shortly be followed up with Humility's Dagger in Vanessa's perspective, which is theme #19 Humility.

**Disclaimer:** Rallalon does not own Fire Emblem, only a highly overactive and extremely weird imagination.

.-.-.-.-.-.

He hates vanity.

Many might consider him to be a hypocrite because of this, but he would disagree. It is not mere vanity that pushes him to meet Ephraim and surpass him. No, it is something much, _much_ more.

But let us leave that dream for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.

When the prince of Frelia thinks of vanity, the faces of noble women come to mind, irritating harpies clawing at each other, crows pecking for status. In his mind, there is ambition and then there is this. In ambition there is pride. And, if he is to acknowledge the small part of him that still believes in the fabled tales of knights and true chivalry, there is also glory. In this vanity, there is only idiocy and foolish wastefulness.

They have gone through a war and now the vultures descend, ripping apart the carcasses for meat on which to feed their great vanity. His father fights these birds off, chases them away as far as they will flee. This is not enough, the heir to the throne knows. Someday, someday unfortunately soon, it will be his turn to stand above the carnage, chase the scavengers away and attempt to repair what is left.

But let us leave that nightmare for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.

Few things can make this great tactician, this battle-hardened sniper flinch. The thought that he would someday be wed to a woman who would age into one of those ghastly, vain harpies was a thought which never failed to bring on a bout of shuddering.

Early on in life, he had acknowledged the simple fact of his station, the truth that he would wed, that he would make certain there was an heir before the day of his death. Also early on in life, he put thought to who he would wed when the time came. Not as arrogant as he may seem, he knows he needs a wife who would support him, who would find putting on airs as irritating and pointless as he does. He knows that more than a pretty face and a child-bearing body are needed.

This seems to be more than many of his lords know.

But let us leave that irritation for another day, for that is not what we are here to discuss.

He has realized that vanity is one side to the coin of pride and he has realized that he is searching for the other. There in the pride in oneself, in one's accomplishments, yet there is also the pride in one's duty, in one's homeland.

In one's love.

In this flip of the coin, the prince of Frelia feels luckier by far than the prince of Jehanna.

While this may or may not be true in actuality, he often finds himself thinking thoughts which surprise him in regards to this topic. Thoughts along uncertain lines. Thoughts edging into confusion. Thoughts running about in muddled circles.

He hates vanity.

So why does he find himself wishing a certain someone would show an interest, however slight, into her appearance, simply so that he could intelligently compliment her on it? He finds himself wondering what to say to a woman, a woman of surpassing beauty and unconscious grace, a woman who believes kindness is her duty and loyalty her reason for living.

When he finds himself wanting to tell her in exacting detail everything about her which he feels is admirable and true and lovely, he also finds himself wondering if he should. If she would want to hear it or simply allow his uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality to pass.

He has thought he feels this way about her because, in addition to being loyal and dedicated and beautiful, there is a sense of humility to her. A sense of humility which refuses to be flattered away or confused into being something it was most definitely not.

This is the paradox. This is what we are here to discuss.

But can we, simple observers taking quick and fleeting glimpses into the heart and mind of this prince, this complex man in complex love, can we possibly define what he discovers he cannot?

For this man who despises the vain to wish his knight a shred of vanity seems truly hypocritical. Truly indeed.

Yet is it too much to wish that he might find it no great challenge to convince her of his admiration for her? That she might wear her hair differently so that he might compliment her and see her smile? That she might show an interest in a piece of jewelry in a shop window, a trinket he might leave at her door?

He is not a man often led into the land of confusion. More seldom still is the circumstance in which he is unable to lead himself back out.

In the time to come, he may realize what his manner of thinking has done to his perception of the world. He may not. Perhaps in time, he will realize that in dividing pride into its halves, foolish vanity and brilliant glory, pride truly has become the coin he believes to have been tossed. He has made himself unable to see the one in the presence of the other. He has not yet realized that even in his own metaphor, the downward face of pride's coin has not disappeared.

In the time to come, he may realize this. There is still ample opportunity for him to do so.

Though he may not, all the same.

Yet whether or not he does fails to have relevance on the truth that we, the mere observers, can see through mere glimpses and glances. For while he searches for the downwards facing side of the coin, he has yet to discover that it has been pressed into his palm. Not as a bribe, no, nothing so vulgar and untrue. It is a gift, a tribute, homage.

In the time to come, he may come to realize that the reason why she seems to have so little pride in herself is because all of her pride is in him.

He may not.

Still, let us hope.


	4. Theme 27: Forgive Without Forgetting

**Title:** Wedding Tears  
**Fandom:** Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones  
**Characters:** Vanessa, Innes, Tana, Syrene (plus Herman, who will be the randomly reoccurring NPC servant)  
**Theme:** #27 Forgive Without Forgetting  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** She had known it would happen. She simply hadn't known he would feel this way when it did.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Fire Emblem.

This fic was the result of wondering: What if I could get three A supports between four characters? Impossible, I know, but kindly read with the assumption of A supports for Vanessa/Innes, Innes/Eirika and Eirika/Seth.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When he heard the news, Prince Innes looked as if he had been stabbed.

It was a look Vanessa was, unfortunately, familiar with. She knew how his eyes would widen, how he would take a sharp, hissing intake of breath, how his jaw would set in furious determination before he pulled himself away from the bloody blade. She could visualize the quick rhythm of his footsteps backwards, as if he were almost fleeing, but too frightened or too wary to turn his back. And as always, she was acutely aware of the wound, the blood spilling and spreading and soaking as the prince stood his ground where he choose and shot his foe in the eye or heart or throat until all enemies were vanquished at last.

There was no blade.

There was no blood.

There was only Princess Tana, beaming and gleefully holding up an invitation before her brother's face.

"This is going to be wonderful!" the princess exclaimed, lowering the invitation and looking at it. "Everyone's going to be there; Eirika wrote so. Please, brother, say you'll come too!"

In the short time between skimming the paper and glancing back up at her brother's face, Tana had missed, missed completely, that look of being stabbed. The widening of eyes, the set of the jaw, the pulling back from the blade in rage; all come and go in a moment.

Vanessa had seen.

"Tana, I need to remain here," the prince replied, remarkably composed.

Both women waited for a reason behind this.

Receiving none, Tana continued, honestly puzzled. "Brother, Father can spare you for a week. Why not come? They _did_ invite you. You won't even have to talk with Ephraim if you don't want to."

Prince Innes grimaced at the very name and it was then Vanessa was forced to take leave of her liege. The misunderstanding, simple yet so obviously incorrect once his face had been seen... It was too much.

It was just too much.

"Brother, why won't you come to Eirika's wedding?"

.-.-.-.

She cried.

.-.-.-.

When a familiar woman came knocking at her door, Vanessa realized she hadn't been quiet enough. That must have been why. It was the only reason she could think of why Syrene would come so quickly.

Because if Syrene hadn't been told by someone who had heard her younger sister, then Syrene must have known a certain piece of information as well as having heard the news.

Syrene hadn't known.

She _hadn't_.

If her sister had known, she would have... she would have...

If she had known that the prince and- and...

She would have... would have...

...Vanessa had never told her sister who she was in love with, had she?

"Oh, sis!"

"Vanessa?"

…She hadn't known.

In fact, she was completely confused. After all, Vanessa had to admit, it wasn't everyday that Syrene found herself suddenly hugged by her undemonstrative younger sister while said younger sister was, if not crying, showing signs of having done so.

"Vanessa, what's wrong? What's happened?" Carefully, concerned, Syrene sat her younger sister down on her bunk, half guiding, half supporting.

After an unsure moment, Vanessa was able to push back the tears and the hiccups. "I don't know what I did wrong," she admitted, her voice and shoulders shaking. "I tried, I really did..."

Syrene held her close and later Vanessa would realize that this was their first embrace since Vanessa had been knighted. "Shh... You didn't do anything wrong. I don't have to know what happened to know that. But will you tell me what happened anyway?"

And so Vanessa did. She told of how she and the prince had been talking, how he had been _smiling_ and relaxed before the princess had come in gleefully with her letter and invitation, almost skipping. How the prince had been amused and curious for a moment, indulging his sister this small antic. How the princess had read it aloud and so missed the moment of the blow landing...

How he... how he had reacted to the news of Princess Eirika marrying her general.

How he had reacted as if... as if he...

Vanessa cried and Syrene held her.

.-.-.-.

When Vanessa awoke the following morning, she rose and washed her face. She combed her hair and she redid her braid. She systematically went through her morning routine, praying with the same amount of emotion she dressed with.

In other words: none.

Part of her had always known it would be like this. It was a shock, but it wasn't a surprise. Maybe the princess married the knight in fairy stories, but he was a prince and this was real life.

In both stories and in life, the prince married a princess.

And the knight protected them both.

Vanessa sat on her cot a little while longer, trying to decide as logically as she could not where she had gone wrong, but what to do. Yes, she hadn't been good enough, but compared to an actual princess who was both beautiful and talented instead of just talented... And yes, the prince didn't love her, but it wasn't as if he had promised he would, only that he would try to get to know her better. And yes, both she and the prince were heartbroken and completely on the rebound, but...

That wasn't a very honorable plan of action.

Though it _was_ incredibly tempting.

She remained there for a little while longer, contemplating the risks of such an obvious gesture. To be viewed as a predator would be awful. For be viewed as offering pity would be worse.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

Rising, Vanessa took a deep breath and steadied her nerves as much as they could be steadied. She opened the door to find a messenger, nothing too surprising.

"Yes?" she asked, trying to remember if she should be remembering him. Most of the servants in the castle were related to one another and so looked unnervingly similar.

"Dame Vanessa, if you would please accompany me?" said the bizarrely nondescript man.

She nodded and stepped out into the hallway. "Where to?"

He replied in a tone usually reserved for the very surprised and terminally confused. "To the tailor, Dame Vanessa. I was under the impression you had been informed."

"And your name is…?" It was bothering her and so she had to ask.

"Herman," he supplied.

"Herman, who told you to take me to the tailor?"

"Prince Innes, ma'am. Something about milord needing an escort to Princess Eirika's wedding and you needing a new dress," he replied with a slightly nervous smile.

"...Oh." Vanessa paused for a moment. "Lead the way, Herman."

"Yes ma'am."

.-.-.-.

Many people cry at weddings.

Vanessa only cries before.


	5. Theme 22: Beautiful

Title: Unexpected Realizations  
Characters: Innes, Vanessa, Tana, Forde  
Theme: #22 Beautiful  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Introspective Innes - because he's fun that way.  
Disclaimer: Does not own, etc.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Somewhere in the far back of his mind, a thought has been working its way into fruition, forming a chain of questions all pointing towards one conclusion. It is a chain sure to send his mind hurtling down pathways he never knew existed. The thought – the initial thought - goes somewhat like this:

_She really isn't a child any longer._

No. She isn't. No child would kill for him, risk death for him. And she has done this, more times than he wishes to accept. It makes no sense, to feel this hesitation, this fight against acceptance. She is a knight; it is her duty, the same as it is her sister's duty. Why should he naturally accept it of the older sibling and not of the younger, this inherent danger to knighthood? Why does he fight against it? After all...

_She's an adult._

She's grown. The small girl in the training yard is now of a good height, short, hasty pigtails now a long, hasty braid. And not all the change has been physical, or so he thinks. After all, he would have noticed before, seen that strange mix of iron and insecurity, that unrelenting will. He would have noticed. He would have noticed because... because... No.

_She has his attention more now than she ever has._

And, of course, this is perfectly reasonable, what with their newfound camaraderie on the battlefield. Obviously, he would notice a woman bent on protecting him at all costs, the knight attempting to protect both his life and his pride. The knight valuing both. The woman valuing both...

_She's a woman grown_.

And this, of course, is incredibly obvious. It's a simple fact of life: when girls are no longer children, they are women. Simple. Straightforward. Yet somehow catching him entirely by surprise. It makes no sense to feel as if he should still treat her as a child, but...

_She needs to be protected_.

From who, from what, he doesn't know. What he does know is this feeling close to his heart is strong, this overwhelming urge to carry a longbow and shoot every enemy archer down before they can do the same to her. Kill the archers, seize the ballista, and keep her safe. What he also knows is that his makes no sense whatsoever because...

_She's strong_.

She's amazingly strong. He's seen her heft javelins, skewer monsters, but that's not all. She's strong in every way she can be, it would seem. Physical prowess melding into mental strength and unconscious grace, there is something more to her, something there that is lacking in everyone else he has ever met. He cannot say what that something is, not until this chain of thoughts carries itself through to completion. Still, even before his mind unravels this string to the very end, he associates this something – this feeling – with certain things.

With how her hair clings to the grime on her face after a skirmish and how her absentminded attempts at wiping sweat from her brow only results in a dirtier forehead than before.

With how alive her eyes seem no matter the wound, no matter if he's the one bellowing for a healer or if he's the one in the dirt, looking up at the last thing – the last person – the last woman he'll ever see.

With how slim, how slight, how delicate she is when the armor is off, when the walls are down.

_She's beautiful_.

.-.-.-.

"Brother, what's wrong? You're scowling."

The prince changed his expression, looking at his sister with the simple message of "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tana sighed, looking strangely put out. "If you're sure..."

His look of denial continued until his sister left his side, leaving the parting message of "Well, if you won't talk with me, Eirika will." The scowl returned, Innes' gaze going back to the unsuspecting object of his significant ire.

Truth be told, Innes himself wasn't completely certain why he was so annoyed with the Renais knight. Of course, that man, the one named Forde, definitely deserved it. Talking to her like that... Actually flirting on the battlefield! _Ephraim should have stricter discipline in his ranks_.

Oddly, this thought failed to improve his mood, this subtle victory over his rival. Then what...?

Watching the Renais knight – Renais _scoundrel_, more like – Innes was perhaps the only one to notice that the other man went intentionally out of his way to whisper into the ear of a certain Frelian knight.

To notice the man's smile was no casual joking grin.

To notice the Frelian knight – _his_ knight – turn red and drop her head, clearly awkward yet not moving away.

His mind immediately leapt for all the reasons why this was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_. Why this shouldn't be happening. Why he should go and stop it. Why it was practically his duty to go and stop it. What he came up with was simple, horrifically simple:

Nothing.

No reason.

No violation he could call them on, fraternization between allied forces something that had never been forbidden. Yet that didn't stop it, didn't change its inherent wrongness. Without knowing what he had to correct, he felt the need to correct it all the same.

Watching the pair, watching Vanessa blush and smile hesitantly at a man who was inexplicably yet overwhelmingly _wrong_, his mind made a strange and sudden realization.

_She really isn't a child any longer._


	6. Theme 25: Shut Up and Listen

Title: Silent Night  
Characters: Innes, Vanessa, Moulder  
Theme: #25 Shut Up and Listen  
Rating: PG13

Date completed: 1/14/07  
Summary: A misplaced Silence spell has a certain prince highly irritated. Unfortunately for him, no one can hear him complain.

Disclaimer: Does not own, etc.

.-.-.-.-.

Innes was annoyed.

Innes was irritated.

Innes was, in fact, not very pleased with the world.

At all.

It might have had something to do with the way his sister was making eyes at a certain spear-welding prince. It might have had something to do with how the last battle had taken multiple turns for the worse as thunder and lightning combined with rain, supplying them with the much-needed handicaps of blindness and ringing ears. It might have even had something to do with it being late evening and therefore no less than three days since his last warm meal – and half a day from his last meal, period.

But most likely, it had to do with the little matter of a misplaced Silence spell.

Note to self: never stand next to L'Arachel on a battlefield swarming with enemy mages.

On the positive side, Moulder had said it should wear off by the morning if they couldn't cure him before then. That left a dark, foggy, miserable night of enforced silence to bear. A dark night with few lanterns, scarce paper and possibly three people who weren't either royalty or mages who could read.

Just one more thing to remember: The literacy test for the knights of Frelia was no longer optional.

Due to being unable to call for aid, it had been agreed – enforced without his input, actually – that he wasn't to be left alone. Waiting for Moulder to return, Innes glanced over at the shadowed form of his Pegasus knight, the girl radiating nervousness from where she stood by the entry flap of the tent.

The rain beating down onto the canvas above their heads, he tried to speak once more. He could feel the exit of the air that should have carried his words, but heard nothing. Shouting a soundless yell of frustration, Innes did his best to _not sulk_ on his cot.

Vanessa hadn't so much as turned her head.

Innes yelled some more, his aggravated silence drowned out by the rain.

Nothing.

He paused for a moment, thinking this through. He clapped, hard.

Nothing, save for stinging palms. This result nonsensical on several levels, he stared at his hands for a moment. That hadn't just happened. He clapped again, looking to Vanessa for her reaction.

Nothing.

Sighing soundlessly, he thought a bit more, now snapping his fingers without audible effect. Even his chattering teeth failed to produce noise, though he hadn't really been trying. True, he was under a spell. True, he was tired, battered, and underfed. True, he was Prince Innes of Frelia and that meant being generally irritable on principle, but this went well beyond that.

This was boredom.

Just because he had to be quiet didn't mean she had to be, too.

Trying and failing to catch the knight's attention, Innes was forced into resorting to actual movement, aching muscles protesting the fully vertical position very much. Sitting down had been wonderfully agreeable after all that running for his life today. It was amazing, frankly, how much people wouldn't respond to commands when one was magically muted.

Horribly tempted to bellow at her and yell truly random things, it occurred to Innes that he'd best get back to sitting down and soon. He tapped her on the shoulder.

She practically jumped out of the tent and back into the rain. "S-sorry, sir!" she apologized, unnaturally loud. "I didn't hear you!"

Prince Innes was Not Amused.

Even with the lamp behind him, his expression must have been illuminated enough to intimidate. "Sorry, sir," she repeated much more softly. "Was there something you wanted?"

He told her.

Watching him intently, she shook her head, interrupting him halfway through. "Maybe if you moved into the light, I could see..."

Nodding, he did so immediately, backing further into the tent. This time, she followed. Half sitting, half collapsing down into his cot, he gestured for her to sit as well. Improprieties be damned; woman or not, she was in full amour. It didn't count.

"I'm wet, sir."

He gestured more strongly.

Hesitating slightly, Vanessa sat on the cot, the distance between them respectable. "I can see you better now."

He looked at her for a moment before trying again, seeing how the lamplight on her face flickered, softening and hardening her features at once and in turns. Still, this was the best lighting they could hope for.

Speaking slowly and soundlessly, he watched her watch him. Her eyes focused on his mouth, her brow furrowing. She leaned forward, damp hair dripping into her eyes. Her lips parted slowly as she attempting to mouth the words he was attempting to say. It wasn't until her mouth shut and her eyes flickered away from him hesitantly that he realized he'd stopped speaking. Trying to and failing, more like.

Ever-patient, the knight watched him, waiting for him to continue.

To the prince's uncomfortable surprise, he had forgotten what he had been trying to say.

"I'm sorry, Prince Innes, I didn't catch that."

Waving it off as best he could, he dropped the effort. It clearly wasn't working and it was doing horrors to his pulse.

Thinking along similar lines, Vanessa fidgeted nervously beside him, becoming awkward in this enforced silence. "Sir, I- I'm sorry."

Innes tried a shrug, attempting to convey a rather complicated message that he very likely wouldn't have been able to find words for anyway. There was nothing to be apologizing for, save being one of the many people who couldn't remember where the idiotic Restore staves had been stored.

"On the battlefield today..."

Oh, that. Following a woman's tangents was like tracking the flight of an angry bee; difficult, dizzying and often resulting in getting stung. Though unsure of where this was going, Innes shook his head.

Unfortunately for him, Vanessa wasn't watching for his reaction. "The visibility was so poor, I couldn't see where we were going. I didn't realize I wasn't with you until Titania nearly... That's not important."

Until her Pegasus nearly what? Was nearly shot down? Struck by lightning, magical or otherwise? Hit by javelin? What had happened? And why was this the first he was hearing of it?

"I'm sorry, sir," she said for – for what? The third? The fourth time that night?

That was far too many.

"I didn't mean to fail you. I'll do better. Truly, prince, I will. I swear to you -"

She stopped speaking abruptly, almost as surprised by his motion as he was. It wasn't simply that he had never reached out before, never placed a finger on her lips to silence her. More than the action, it was the complete and total lack of forethought preceding it which astounded him.

For no reason he could name, Innes found himself wondering how he looked to her. Half-dried hair sticking to his skull and purple-lined eyes, his shivering body exhausted and voice mute, a scab clinging to his chin and a bandage around his arm; how pathetic must he look to deserve such an apology?

Somehow, that line of reasoning utter failed to explain why she was gazing at him like that. And then why her eyes fell gently shut as that small contact increased, as he unthinkingly cupped her cheek. She shivered at his cold touch; obviously cold, for why shiver if not for the chill? So cold, the both of them, then.

His fingers slid under the hair clinging wetly to her face as he watched the clumped green strands shine in the dim lamplight, watched the gleam move about. So warm against his palm, so cold against the back of his hand; the two extremes balanced, placing him in some foreign limbo, the likes of which he had never before known.

Her lips parted with the intake of breath and the balance was shattered irrevocably.

So focused on his right, Innes had nearly forgotten that he had another hand. Now he raised it, reached, touched. The chill of her hair was nothing compared to that of her shoulder. The armor, of course. Obviously. Naturally. Yes...

His hand slid over the lightly dented metal, inspiring both worry for her and a hungering curiosity. Thoughts blurring together as she leaned into his touch, he wondered momentarily what would happen should the armor have been discarded earlier in the evening. This thought too blurred into the next, his left hand reaching the base of her neck, feeling the dampness of the padding beneath the metal. Concern… protectiveness, that was what he felt, was what caused the desire to strip her of those wet garments, to hold her close, to... warm her.

Concern...

At the touch on her neck, her eyes opened once more, her breathing as unsteady as he felt. Those eyes in the near-dark, shades of green impossible to determine, blurring together like his thoughts... They widened, pupils dilated, drawing him in. Her hesitant hand cupped his, cupping the hand cupping her cheek.

Protectiveness...

His other hand slipped behind her neck, slipped under her braid, tangled, wet, coarse. Maybe he pulled or perhaps she leaned in further on her own, those eyes falling shut once again. She was so warm under his hands, chilled to the point of burning, the cold hitching her breath and filling her body with shivers. He felt her shake, wanted to feel more.

Innes leaned in, turning his head to nearly rest it against hers. His hair brushed against her cheek, but she didn't seem to mind. On the other side of her face, he found his thumb had been stroking her cheekbone, that elegant detail. For how long, he wasn't certain, wasn't sure why it would matter how long provided he continued.

Neither was he sure whether or not this was his true intent, had been his true intent. His nose nearly touching her ear, his unheld hand rising to brush her tangled hair away from it, he paused. Merely breathing, barely thinking, he paused.

And began to speak.

Without sound, without words, without anything more than silence, Innes spoke. Without hearing, without seeing, Vanessa seemed to understand what he was doing, if not what he was saying. She listened to words that were never uttered, accepted promises never made, took comfort in reassurances never offered.

To say he fell silent would be redundant, yet that was what he did as she leaned her head against his. Such a light contact shouldn't have affected him to the extent that it did, but now she was the one whose breath tickled the other's ear. Her neck, her hand, her cheek, her breathing... his world collapsed around these, leaving only the sound of pounding rain on canvas and a heartbeat pulsing in speeding counterpoint.

"Prince..."

She shouldn't have sounded like that, sounded as if she... Of course not. Obviously. Naturally. Yes...

There was a sound in the resulting stillness and the pair pulled back, pulled away, equally flushed. But oh, how her eyes shone. Had he not already dropped his hand from her face, he –

"Father Moulder!" Vanessa exclaimed as she sprung to her feet, once again far too loud. Innes was left mentally floundering for a moment, blankly staring at the wet patch on his cot where a woman had just sat.

"It seems our inventory needs looking into," the priest said by way of reply, coughing slightly as his eyes went from one to the other. "The last Restore staff seems to have broken earlier."

"That's unfortunate," Vanessa remarked awkwardly, refraining from looking at her liege.

"Don't worry, Vanessa," Moulder replied, looking at Innes instead. "The spell will wear off soon enough."

"That's good." This was perhaps even more awkward.

Moulder gave her a small smile in an attempt at reassurance. "Good night, Vanessa."

"G-good night, Father."

Watching her go back out into the rain, Innes took comfort in the fact that he couldn't possibly be expected to explain what had just happened – and not simply because he wasn't certain himself. But whatever else happened, be it a priestly lecture or a freezing night spent avoiding the damp bit of blanket, Innes planned on finding out.

It was astonishing what one could hear, if only one listened.


End file.
